Julie was heading for the kitchen for more tea when she heard voices outside the carved oak front door. Not loud voices: one-lilting, almost singsong, punctuated by that familiar squeal of laughter that wasn’t quite spontaneous Surely it was her daughter’s deliberate, girlish laugh. But the other voice was deeper, a stranger’s, with a teasingly combative, seductive edge Julie couldn’t distinguish their words, only the muffled rhythm of the sounds, a light, playful cat-and-mouse quality that reminded her of the flirtatious banter of her own youth.
It must be a boy Katie likes, Julie mused, for her to be lingering on the porch with him for so long. But then she has so many friends, boys and girls, always changing, faceless, interchangeable, like strangers coming and going through a revolving door. Which one is it this time?
There was a sudden click of the doorknob. The door opened before Julie could register the fact that she was standing in the white marble foyer in her bathrobe with her honey blond hair a tangled mess, her face devoid of makeup, and her nose puffy and red from sneezing.
Still laughing, Katie sauntered in the door with a tall, strapping young man in T-shirt and jeans, his russet hair hanging down to his shoulders, a gold ring in one ear, and his bronzed arm draped over Katie’s shoulder. He was laughing, too, casually, with a pleased, satisfied smirk, as if they had shared a private, even intimate, joke. When they saw Julie standing in the hallway, they stopped in their tracks, frozen momentarily. The boy dropped his arm from Katie’s shoulder and flashed an apologetic half smile. Katie’s eyes widened with surprise. “Mom, what are you doing home?” she asked, her tone startled, accusing.
“I live here,” Julie flung back, realizing it was a dumb thing to say, the sort of answer Katie would have given her.
“But why aren’t you at work?” Katie persisted, arching one feathery, finely plucked brow. Her pale pink complexion had reddened, giving her high cheekbones a rosy, self-conscious glow.
“I took the day off, Katie. I’m sick. Can’t you tell?”
Katie nodded, her pouty, cranberry red lips drooping slightly. “Yeah, you look totally awful, Mom!”
“Thanks,” said Julie. She could have turned the remark back on her daughter. You look totally awful, too! Katie stood there in a skimpy tank top and baggy jeans with gaping holes in the knees, one of her typical “ugly” outfits Julie complained about constantly, to no avail. Her long, auburn brown hair was clipped back artlessly and free-falling around her shoulders. Katie’s icy blue eyes cut into Julie’s soul with a single glance. She had her father’s eyes—shrewd, cunning at times, unreadable, defensive; eyes containing such pure, luminous color they could steal one’s breath.
“You look like you don’t feel good, Mom,” Katie was saying. “Did you call the doctor?”
“No. It’s just a cold. Nothing to worry about.” Julie could have added, I have worse things to fret over, Katie, like your father’s mysterious note from some hussy named Beth and this strange boy walking into my house with his hormones raging and his octopus arms hanging all over you!
Julie fixed her gaze expectantly on the young man until his face reddened and Katie said hastily, “Oh, I forgot. Mom, this is Jesse.”
“Jesse Dawson,” said the tall, broad-shouldered youth. He tentatively offered Julie his hand, then quickly withdrew it when she made no move to acknowledge the gesture. His tanned, chiseled features could have been carved from granite. His jaw was set like flint, as if daring anyone to mess with him. Dark brows crouched over his smoky gray eyes. Julie had sudden visions of smoldering anger and raw passion in his gaze, but whatever secrets lurked behind his eyes, Julie already knew she wanted Katie to have nothing to do with him
She turned to Katie and said, “Young lady, you know the rule. No boys in the house unless I’m here—or your dad.”
“You are here, Mom. Besides, it’s not what you think.”
“Isn’t it? But you brought Jesse here thinking I was still at work.”
Katie’s tone turned as icy as her eyes. “I swear it’s not like that, Mom. Jes just dropped me off so I could change. He’s taking me to youth group tonight, and I knew you wouldn’t want me wearing these torn jeans to church.”
“I wish you wouldn’t wear those raggedy jeans anywhere! They belong in the rag bag.”
“Everybody wears jeans like these,” Katie protested.
Julie folded her arms and rocked back slightly on her heels. “What are you two planning to do for the next few hours until youth group starts?”
Katie shrugged. “I don’t know. Just hang out. Grab a burger Why the third degree, Mom?”
Julie might have said, Because I’m already upset. I’m afraid your father has betrayed me, and I won’t risk losing you, too! Instead she ignored Katie’s question and addressed Jesse. “I don’t recall seeing you around church, Jesse. Are your parents members?”
“No, ma’am. My parents don’t go to church,” he drawled matter-of-factly. “They’re dead,”
Julie uncrossed her arms, feeling suddenly unnerved. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It happened a long time ago.”
Julie groped for words. “Then where do you—I mean, who do you—?”
“I live with my grandma and little brother. Right here in Long Beach. Just off Pine.”
Julie nodded stiffly. She knew the area. It was an old, deteriorating, gang-infested neighborhood of tiny rundown houses on postage-stamp-size lots—an area Michael warned her never to drive through alone, especially at night. God forbid that Katie would ever venture into such a neighborhood.
Katie pulled Jesse toward the door, as if to deliver him from Julie’s obvious interrogation. “Jes, I’m going to run to my room and change. You can wait out in the car if you want.”
He shrugged. “No, that’s okay. Go on. I’ll wait here.”
“Would you like a soft drink or something?” Julie asked offhandedly. She had to admit to a certain grudging admiration of the boy; he hadn’t turned tail and run.
Jesse shook his head. “No thanks. I’m not thirsty.” He rubbed his palms over the thighs of his jeans. Then, hooking his thumbs on his pockets, he looked around the house with a solemn curiosity. “Nice place,” he mumbled.
Following his gaze, Julie saw her home through his eyes—a bright, spacious two-story with expansive windows, thick carpets, an Italian marble fireplace and classic country French decor accented by lush, live plants and her own original oil paintings. Julie felt a rush of pride, recalling how hard she and Michael had worked to afford such an impressive home for themselves and Katie. But the feeling was followed by a prick of guilt. Jesse Dawson had never been able to live in such a house.
“Thank you.” Julie tightened the sash on her robe, sighed audibly and wondered what she and the boy could find to talk about now. “Are you still in school?” she inquired.
He lowered his gaze, jutting out his lower lip. “No, I quit last year.”
“You didn’t graduate?”
“Naw. I was a junior.”
“Really? But you had only one more year.” She knew she was prying, but it was for Katie’s sake. “Why didn’t you stay in school?”
Jesse shrugged “I had to work, bring in some dough.”
“You couldn’t wait until you finished your senior year?”
“Nope. We needed the money. Grams is too old to work. My brother, Scout, is too young”
“What do you do?” Julie asked, “I mean,